Am I A Black Feminist?

During the week of Thanksgiving, The Lion's Historian asked for my thoughts on Black feminism in 200 - 500 words. I wasn't sure I'd get any words because I'd never thought of myself as a Black feminist. So I thought, I scribbled notes, I mused in the shower, I did some freewriting in bed, I even caught Sex in '69: History of the Sexual Revolution in America that same week.

Black Blood

barely skimming the surface...


Last week, the story of 6-year old Jasmina Anema was made public. She was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. The only thing that can save her life is a bone marrow transplant. The best match would be a family member. But Jasmina Anema is adopted; she has no known siblings and her adopted family is white. Jasmina is Black; a member of a grossly underrepresented population in blood banks and on donor lists.


Blood types O and B are the most common (and highly demanded) blood types and found in Blacks. Many rare blood types are also found in our gene pool. Blood and tissue types are inherited so the best matches are found in families or similar racial groups. Blood transfusions are necessary for more conditions/injuries/diseases than you may realize. And many of those circumstances affect African-Americans at a greater rate. Sickle Cell, cancer, premature births and unnatural causes like car accidents and critical gunshot wounds (trauma patients). 


On an anthropological level, Blacks are the mother of civilization. All other man came from us. It makes sense that our blood would be the life-giving source. There’s this great resurgence of Black pride; throw on your dashikis and cowry shells, give your children African names and greet one another in Swahili, but what else are you doing to ensure our people survive and thrive in future generations? There’s still an underlying distrust of doctors (I use that term broadly) by the African-American community due to the long documented history of medical experimentation and torture (Tuskegee, PolyHeme, Carver Village) we’ve undergone. But this unwillingness to be blood (or bone marrow) donors will be to our detriment.

Obama Is A Grinch

What the hell is wrong with Barack Obama? Five weeks into his term and he’s actually doing something? He made all these promises during his presidential campaign and now he has the nerve to follow through! Preposterous! He’s taking away all the joy of bashing a new President; a politician. They seldom keep their word. What are the naysayers to do now? Debate how quickly his hair is graying? Suggest he walk with less swagger?


He’s spending too much money on this stimulus bill. Oh yeah? Well he has to undo the mess that the previous President caused, or saw happening and didn’t have the intelligence or balls to do anything about. As a leader, you have to do what has to be done. You won’t always be understood or have a lot of support (Guiliani, Bloomberg), but beyond listening to your constituents and taking into account their concerns (health care reform!), it still boils down to a leader doing what has to be done.


Five weeks into his administration, Obama has a plan and a date set to have combat troops home from Iraq: August 31, 2010. A war that frankly shouldn’t have been started. I’m not a fan a war, wasn’t a fan of George Bush. But I remember standing in the lobby of LIU, watching the Twin Towers crumple and thinking, “They just declared war…” So I understand the US going after who was responsible, Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda in Afghanistan.Saddam Hussein, I think, was a red herring that Bush willingly chased. WMDs were never found in Iraq. Instead we’ve had 35,000 total casualties (Iraq & Afghanistan combined). 


Obama’s campaign rival, John McCain, agrees with his plan to pull out from Iraq. And I think deep down, many other Republicans agree with Obama’s policies. But to just admit that and move on with running the country would be too easy. Red state citizens who can’t stomach the fact that their fellow Americans and the Electoral College put Obama in office won’t admit it either even when they start to reap the benefits. So what’s left to do? Pick on the Black man. Compare him (and all African-Americans, Africans, or people of African descent) to a chimp and shoot him up in cartoon form. Or bake drunken negro face cookies in the West Village or display books about the President and one about monkeys in the window of a Barnes and Noble (Coral Gables, FL). No worries, Obama isn’t consulting with Doctor Zaius over a plate of ribs and watermelon. It’s a shame that these comparisons and stereotypes, these attacks, have been going on for centuries. But you gotta feel sorry for the “other guy” if that’s all he’s got after all these years.

 

Find this blog entry elsewhere on the web on Mahogany Butterfly.

Damn Black People

I find humor in SOME stereotypes. So, I’m walking around Greenwich Village on this very bright, brisk day, Afro blowing in the wind and had a hankering for some fish (I’m known to get cravings that sometimes turn into month-long binges). I end up in Little Britain at A Salt and Battery. I order Fish and Chips and the guy working on this particular day asked if I wanted any particular condiments. He said he had already put the tartar sauce in the bag. And I knew I didn’t have to ask for the vinegar, so I said no and took a seat to wait for my order. Not long after he called me when my cod and chips were fried to a crisp. 

“Here you go, love. Where are you?” he asked in his hackney accent. 

I hopped off my stool and went to the counter. Then he asked again if I wanted any condiments. He probably forgot he asked me already. I shook my head ‘no’. Then he asked if I wanted any hot sauce. Again, I said no and left the shop. I thought that was strange. I’m walking down the block and wondering, “Who the hell puts hot sauce on fish and chips?”

Black people.

I smiled. I couldn’t even get mad at him. As I’m approaching the subway entrance, I see a woman who is confused, getting directions from a man who is confused. People often ask me for navigation tips when I’m walking around so I prepped myself. Next to that man and woman, there was a homeless guy (one of those got-better-clothes-than-you-on homeless guys) sitting there shaking his cup at me. I shook my head at him and turned back to the couple trying to figure which way they should go.

“What you worried ‘bout her for? I’m the one that needs help!”

My man begging for money and gonna get rude! Maybe the cold and hunger made him irritable, but I’m supposed to go in my pocket to help him after he’s being demanding and belligerent? 

Yup, he was Black.

I should’ve reached in my bag and started eating my fish and chips right in front of him.

Again, Black People.